Part 55 (1/2)
Norman's smile was cynically patient. ”I want my home and I want my career,” said he. ”And I don't want any society nonsense. I had the good luck to marry a woman who knows and cares nothing about it. I don't purpose to give up the greatest advantage of my marriage.”
Ursula was astounded. She knew the meaning of his various tones and manners, and his way of rejecting her plans for Dorothy--and, incidentally, for her own amus.e.m.e.nt--convinced her that he was through and through in earnest. ”It will be dreadfully lonesome for her, Fred,”
she pleaded.
”We'll wait till that trouble faces us,” replied he, not a bit impressed. ”And don't forget--not a word of temptation to her from you.”
This with an expression that warned her how well he knew her indirect ways of accomplis.h.i.+ng what she could not gain directly.
”Oh, I shan't interfere,” said she in a tone that made it a binding promise. ”But you can't expect me to sympathize with your plans for an old-fas.h.i.+oned domestic life.”
”Certainly not,” said Norman. ”You don't understand. Women of your sort never do. That's why you're not fit to be the wives of men worth while.
A serious man and a society woman can't possibly hit it off together.
For a serious man the outside world is a place to work, and home is a place to rest. For a society woman, the world is a place to idle and home is a work shop, an entertainment factory. It's impossible to reconcile those two opposite ideas.”
She saw his point at once, and it appealed to her intelligence. And she had his own faculty for never permitting prejudice to influence judgment. She said in a dubious tone, ”Do you think Dorothy will sympathize with your scheme?”
”I'm sure I don't know,” replied he.
”If she doesn't--” Ursula halted there.
Her brother shrugged his shoulders. ”If she proves to be the wrong sort of woman for me, she'll go her way and I mine.”
”Why, I thought you loved her!”
”What have I said that leads you to change your mind?” said he.
”A man does not take the high hand with the woman he adores.”
”So?” said Norman tranquilly.
”Well,” said his puzzled sister by way of conclusion, ”if you persist in being the autocrat----”
”Autocrat?--I?” laughed he. ”Am I trying to compel her to do anything she doesn't wish to do? Didn't I say she would be free to go if she were dissatisfied with me and my plan--if she didn't adopt it gladly as her own plan, also?”
”But you know very well she's dependent upon you, Fred.”
”Is that my fault? Does a man force a woman to become dependent? And just because she is dependent, should he therefore yield to her and let her make of his life a waste and a folly?”
”You're far too clever for me to argue with. Anyhow, as I was saying, if you persist in what I call tyranny----”
”When a woman cries tyranny, it means she's furious because she is not getting _her_ autocratic way.”
”Maybe so,” admitted Ursula cheerfully. ”At any rate, if you persist--unless she loves you utterly, your life will be miserable.”
”She may make her own life miserable, but not mine,” replied he. ”If I were the ordinary man--counting himself lucky to have induced any woman to marry him--afraid if he lost his woman he'd not be able to get another--able to give his woman only an indifferent poor support, and so on--if I were one of those men, what you say might be true. But what deep and permanent mischief can a frail woman do a strong man?”
”There's instance after instance in history----”
”Of strong men wrecking _themselves_ through various kinds of madness, including s.e.x madness. But, my dear Ursula, not an instance--not one--where the woman was responsible. If history were truth, instead of lies--you women might have less conceit.”